Finding Fraser(88)

Weren’t we?

The village was nestled on the shore of Loch Ness, along a narrow road that wound through farm fields before swinging back toward the water. As there was little to be seen other than a scattering of houses, Hamish dropped me near the village inn.

“Is this where you are going?” I asked. There didn’t seem to be any commercial buildings at all, apart from the inn. “I don’t see a garage.”

“It’s a private home,” he said, looking through his papers. “Called—ah—Sunshine Motors. Must be a fella workin’ in an outbuilding behind one of these houses. I won’t be long—the place cannae be hard to find in this wee town.”

The little splatter of rain that had fallen while we were driving seemed to have cleared, and to the west the sky began to wrap itself in faint pink streaks. I hopped out at the end of the road and he drove off, promising to be back in fifteen minutes.

The breeze off the water caressed my face as I walked along the shoreline. With the cool air, the embarrassment about the glasses faded and my good intentions returned. I just needed to spend some time NOT talking with him, I reasoned. That was the whole purpose of this little jaunt together. And this was the fabled Loch Ness, after all.

I hadn’t even had a glimpse of it before, when I’d traveled in the dark to Drumnadrochit to find Gerald’s stone circle. It was amazing to see now, and another ‘Claire site’ that I could check off my list. I decided to scour the park for a romantic spot where Hamish and I could watch the sun set together.

Within five minutes of wandering down the lane away from the inn I had found the ideal location. A section of low, flat rock lay just above the waterline, out of sight from any prying eyes on the road above. An old log had floated up on the shore and jammed itself on the rocks. Perfect for leaning against.

I sat down on the rock, pulling my jacket beneath me to cushion the surface a bit—and decided it was just right. Private enough for a little canoodling, especially now that the light was failing. It was time I took matters into my own hands and move things forward, to see if Hamish and I were as physically compatible as I believed—I knew—we would be.

At that very moment, a small child covered in equal parts dirt and scabs came tearing out of a little lane that emerged behind some of the larger houses.

“Hide me!” he demanded, and dove behind me.

I jumped to my feet.

“What …? Who are you running from?”

The child grabbed my coat and dove under it.

“Big Bunny,” came his muffled reply. “Big Bunny’s gonna get me.”

I looked around wildly, half expecting to see a giant pink rabbit bounding up. Instead, a weary-looking woman came jogging out of the lane.

“Have you seen a …?” she began; when she caught sight of the wriggling creature, unsuccessfully trying to hide his lower half under my jacket.

“Ach, Ruardh, yeh little shite. I’ve got yeh now.”

She reached down and, grabbing the fugitive by the arm, looked up at me apologetically. “Ah’m ’is auntie,” she said. “He’s bolted on me three times this afternoon alone. My sister owes me big time, I swear.”

She handed me back my jacket. “Ice cream, Bunny?” the little boy pleaded, as she scooped him up.

“Yer ma can give ye sweeties, laddie,” she said. “Auntie Bonnie’s all tired out.”

They walked a few steps, and then she paused and turned back to me with an odd expression on her face. “Y’er not sittin’ down here by yerself, aye?”

“Oh, I’m just waiting for my boyfriend,” I said. “Why?”

But at that moment, the boy gave a joyful shout and wriggled loose. With a cry of despair, she broke into a run. The two of them disappeared back into the thick green foliage of the lane.

I listened for a moment, but the echoes of the little boy’s giggles and his auntie’s threatening shouts soon faded away into the shrubbery. I folded my jacket to sit on again, as the peaceful evening enveloped me once more.

The water was completely calm, and I stared out across the surface, my eyes following the gentle ripples left by the evening breeze. The loch itself was long and narrow, but my little section of beach was in a bit of a protected inlet. Across the water the yellow afternoon light briefly gave a golden glow to the trees on the opposite shore.

I had just leaned back against the log experimentally, imagining Hamish’s body pressed against my own, hot and insistent …when I heard a little splash. I opened my eyes and scanned the water. Had the kid made his escape again? It couldn’t be him—everything was completely silent.